


Little Wild One

by determamfidd



Series: Sansûkh: The Appendices [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bofur is a Sweetheart, Bombur is awesome, Dwarves make amazing parents thank you very much and good morning, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Gimli is an awesome Uncle, Teeny Dwarves are adorable and also trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gimizh son of Bofur was named well. He is a whirlwind of imagination and trouble and mischief and mad flights of soaring fancy. His friends, the sons of Dwalin, don't exactly help with this. A day in the life of a dwarfling of Erebor.</p><p>(Let the Mountain tremble.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Wild One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notanightlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanightlight/gifts).



> Part 2 of **_the Appendices._**  
>  (short gift-fics set in the Sansûkh universe.)
> 
> This one is for the lovely [notanightlight](http://notanightlight.tumblr.com), and was originally posted on [my tumblr](http://determamfidd.tumblr.com/post/61293864494/sansukh-side-fic-little-wild-one%22). I hope you enjoy.

“Get up, lazybones!” A big hand shook his shoulder, and Gimizh mumbled under his breath and bundled himself in his blanket even tighter. The sound of his Dad’s chuckle rolled though the room.

“That isn’t gonna work, inùdoy. Come on, up you get. It’s a beautiful day!”

“Nnnnnph,” Gimizh said, and pulled his blanket over his head.

His dad stood and there was blessed silence for a moment, and then his blanket was ripped away. Gimizh sat up with a shout of protest, glaring at his dad. Bofur was grinning ear to ear, and his eyes were merry as he tried (and failed) to restrain his laughter.

“You look like a right numpty,” he said. “Hair everywhere, an’ twice as messy.”

“ _Someone_ took my blanket away,” Gimizh retorted.

“Count yer blessings, it could have been your mother instead of me.”

True. Gimizh rubbed at his eyes and yawned. “I can count every one of your teeth from here,” his dad said, and he ruffled Gimizh’s dark red hair. “Breakfast is on the table, and your mum wants you to help her with the infirmary later.”

He brightened. “Really?” The infirmary was brilliant. There were so many different things to see and do and play with, all very mysterious and important. The infirmary was where some of his very best (read: most disastrous) of games had been thought up. His mother had sworn never to take him with her, ever again.

Apparently the rules had changed?

Gimizh pulled on a shirt and trotted behind his dad to the warm, recessed kitchen. His mum was already there, her hair and beard pulled back neatly and her arms bare to the elbow. It was going to be a messy day, then.

_Excellent._

“Ach, look at you!” Gimrís tutted, pulling Gimizh towards her and tucking him between her knees. “Is it a separate creature that has made a home on your head? Can it speak, do you think?”

“Mum!” he whined.

“Hold still, or I will chop it off,” Gimrís said sternly, her fingers flying as she undid his braids.

Gimizh succumbed to the fussing, though not without scowling. Long experience had taught him that his mum would get her way. Still, it was so embarrassing! He was almost a grown Dwarrow – almost! His hair was his own affair: his own personal private hair. A fellow couldn’t have his breakfast without having his own personal private hair being pulled and tutted over.

“Hand me that comb - if you can remember what one looks like. Oh, Gimizíth, my darling little terror, you grow more and more like my ridiculous brother every day.”

Gimizh’s scowl immediately morphed into a huge grin.

“That got him smiling again,” said Bofur, his lips twitching.

“No doubt,” Gimrís sighed. “Still, even Gimli figured out how to use a comb eventually. I think he was forty or so, but he managed it in the end.”

“Unkind, my ruby,” Bofur laughed.

Her mouth curved upwards the smallest amount, and then she sighed soundlessly as she tied off the second of Gimizh’s braids.

Bofur shook his head when Gimizh gave him an inquisitive look. “She misses him,” he mouthed when Gimizh frowned. The boy’s expression cleared in understanding, and he nodded slightly.

“Hold your head still,” Gimrís commanded.

“You got me in trouble,” Gimizh mouthed to his dad, glowering, and his dad shrugged unapologetically.

Gimizh wore his hair like his father usually: two curving plaits behind each ear (though they were a little short and stuck out either side of his head: Wee Thorin usually teased him about it) and one at the back. His hair was a lot thicker than his dad’s, though, and he didn’t have an impressive moustache or anything.

Life was so unfair.

Gimizh bolted for his chair the second his mother let him go, and began to gulp down his milk and porridge. “What’s the big rush?” said Gimrís.

“Meeting Wee Thorin this morning, gotta go see the bow practice,” Gimizh said around a mouthful of porridge. Gimrís wrinkled her nose, and Bofur passed his son a napkin.

“Use that,” he said. “We want to hear it, not wear it.”

“Off to see Elves,” sighed Gimrís.

“Bomfrís’ll beat them,” Gimizh said smugly. “I bet my Dwalin toy, n’ Wee Thorin bet his new training axe. Wee Thorin really wants the Dwalin toy: he doesn’t have it, and he thinks I should just give it to him cos it’s his dad an’ all.”

Bofur rolled his eyes. “He could just ask me fer one.”

“Oh, right. Didn’t think of that.”

“Be back at eleven, treasure,” Gimrís said, flicking a bit of porridge from his cheek with her thumb. “I have a lot of new bandages that need to be rolled, and I could use the help.”

Bandages? But that was _boring!_ “Do I have to?” Gimizh whined.

“Yes,” Bofur said firmly.

“Bring your friend if he is allowed,” said Gimrís. “Two pairs of hands would be better than one.”

Well, thought Gimizh, if he had to suffer, at least he wouldn’t suffer alone.

…

The bow practice was boring, and Bomfrís didn’t win, so Gimizh ended up losing his Dwalin toy. Wee Thorin actually smiled when he handed it over.

Gimizh thought about belting him in the stupid smug face, but Wee Thorin was a lot bigger and taller and stronger than Gimizh. He _never_ won. It was really annoying.

“One day,” Gimizh said with all the determination in his body, “I’m gonna be a great warrior like my uncle, an’ I’m gonna thump you until you cry like Frerin – all blobby tears and wheezing.”

Wee Thorin snorted. “Oh, sure. Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

“Well…” Gimizh folded his arms and glared down at Bomfrís. The traitor. “I’ll kick you an’ make your leg hurt, anyway. And then I’ll get my toy back.”

“Get one of your dad instead,” Wee Thorin snapped, his fingers wrapping tightly around the wooden doll. “This is _my_ dad.”

“So unfair,” Gimizh said, and settled in for a good long sulk.

…

“An’ stay out!” Barur hollered, throwing a half-eaten pie after them.

Racing away from the kitchens, Gimizh and Wee Thorin licked at their sticky fingers and rubbed the stains around their mouths. Barur’s cooking was the best in Erebor, but Durin’s beard, he was no easy Dwarrow to fool.

“I didn’t get to finish the pie,” Wee Thorin grumbled as they tore down the corridors.

“Hey, here,” Gimizh ducked into a side-corridor and pulled Wee Thorin in after him by the tunic. “Look!” He fished about in his pockets for a bit, and then drew out his prizes - a little crumbled, but still perfectly edible.

Wee Thorin’s face lit up like Durin’s Day. “Cookies.”

Gimizh grinned. “Cookies.”

…

“Your baby brother is boring,” complained Gimizh.

“He’s all right,” Wee Thorin grunted, carting Frerin about on his shoulders. He had one of his big brother’s braids in his mouth. They were out upon the wide ledge that overlooked the northern side of the Mountain, and it had been raining. Gimizh had been quick to investigate the possibilities of splashing in the muddy puddles, and had thoroughly spattered his trousers, his shirt, his face, Wee Thorin’s trousers, Balin’s hair, and Frerin’s bottom. Also, he had ruined his boots.

And now he was bored and they couldn’t go climbing.

“Why do we have to look after him?”

“Because Mum and Dad have drills,” Balin said, looking up from his muddy puddle. “I can see squiggly things in this! What do you think they are?”

“Squiggly things?” Gimizh peered into the puddle, and sure enough there were squiggly things. “D’you think they’re evil?”

Balin looked into the puddle dubiously. “They’re just, I dunno, squiggly. They sit there and squiggle. I don’t think they do it in an evil way.”

“They could be evil,” Gimizh said, enthusiastically warming up to his subject. “And we’re all covered in ‘em and so we’re evil.”

“You’re the most evillest,” pointed out Balin logically.

“Only my bottom s’evul,” announced Frerin from Wee Thorin’s shoulders.

“Never said a truer word,” Wee Thorin muttered.

“King Dáin says no evil will live in Erebor ever again,” said Balin. “So I think they’re just squiggly.”

“Oh. Well, wanna see how many I can eat?”

…

“Grandma?”

Mizim cursed and span, her knife flying wide of the mark. “You frightened the life out of me, you pack of cat-footed terrors! Make a noise or something next time! I could have put a knife right through you!”

“Sorry,” Gimizh said, grinning. “Can we borrow a dress?”

“A _dress?_ Why?”

“Because Frerin’s been kidnapped by a dragon an’ I have to rescue him, but Frerin wants to be a Prince an’ Balin says that means I’m the Princess but I don’t have a dress. So can I borrow one? So I can rescue Frerin from Wee Thor-uh, I mean, the dragon.”

Mizim blinked, and then she burst out laughing.

…

Gimrís pinched her nose.

“Let me get this straight. You were rolling the bandages.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And then you dropped one and it unrolled.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And then you decided to have, and I quote, ‘bandage races’ to see whose bandage unrolled the fastest.”

“Umm. Yes.”

“And then Balin tripped on the bandages.”

“Sorry, Mum.”

“And he grabbed at the table…”

“Please, please, Mum…”

“… to keep himself upright.”

“Lady Gimrís…”

“And all the bottles I made last night were on that table.”

“Mum, I’m really, really sorry.”

“And they smashed all over the floor.”

“Aunt Gimrís, _please…”_

“And Frerin was upset by the noise and woke up crying.”

“He was _really_ loud, Mum.”

“And so you wrapped him in all the bandages to make him feel better.”

“He looks really safe now though, doesn’t he?”

Gimrís looked down at her grubby son, his tall and sullen friend, the little boy hopping up and down and rubbing at his leg where he had tripped, and the toddler wrapped up in so many bandages he could barely move.

“What was I thinking,” she groaned.

….

“Uncle Bombur?”

“If it isn’t my favourite nephew!” Bombur looked up from his careful painting. He’d taken to making toys for Gimizh’s dad’s shop nowadays, though it was more of a hobby than anything. “What trouble have you managed to get into today?”

“Why does everyone assume that?” Gimizh protested. “I’ve been really good!”

“You need to learn how to lie better,” Bombur chuckled, turning his chair around and opening his arms. Gimizh eagerly came forward. Uncle Bombur’s hugs were the best hugs. “Is there a reason for this visit?”

“Wee Thorin won my Dwalin toy,” Gimizh grumbled. “I was sure Bomfrís could beat the Elves.”

“Elves are remarkable archers, Gimizh,” said Bombur gently. “As talented as my daughter is, the Elves have practised their skills for centuries. Did you want another Dwalin toy? You should ask your father if he will make you one.”

“Well, I _would,_ ” Gimizh squirmed a little uncomfortably. “But I wanted to know if I could have something else instead. I don’t wanna be a bother while Dad’s so busy with war-stuff, so I thought maybe I could ask you? But only if you want to!” he added quickly.

“Relax, I can make you a toy,” Bombur smiled. “Of who? No, wait, let me guess. Is it… Dori?”

Gimizh grinned.

“Is it… Thorin Stonehelm?” Bombur poked Gimizh in the side with one thick finger, and Gimizh squealed and laughed. Bombur laughed back and began to tickle him in earnest.

“Uncle Bombur!” Gimizh hollered, squirming away from the tickling. “Stop it!”

“All right, all right! Very well, one wooden figure of Gimli, coming up.” Bombur shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Your mother will pitch a fit when she sees it.”

“ _Another_ fit, you mean,” Gimizh mumbled.

Bombur tugged on one of his braids. “Give me until tomorrow, all right? But you must do something for me in return.”

“Yes?”

“Stop bothering Barur’s kitchen!”

“Aww, Uncle _Bombur…_ ”

“No ifs ands or buts, young khudz. No more stealing from his kitchen. Understood?”

Gimizh gave a martyred sigh. “Yes.”

“Good.” Bombur tugged his braid again, and then smiled a little. “Now, _this_ uncle will make you a figure of your _other_ uncle, and you can go show it off to Wee Thorin.”

“Thank you, Uncle Bombur!” Gimizh gave him another hug – because you just didn’t pass up a Bombur-hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Oh, get off with you, you little scamp,” Bombur grinned. “I notice you don’t ask for a figure o’ _me_.”

“But I can hug you, you’re right here,” Gimizh pointed out. “Uncle Gimli is off somewhere an’ I dunno where. Is he ever coming back?”

Bombur looked very serious for a moment, and then he picked up Gimizh and put him upon his good knee. “He’s coming back, Gimizh,” he told him in a solemn voice. “You’re right, he’s off somewhere. He’s doing a very great thing. He’s protecting us all.”

“Fighting against evil!” Gimizh’s eyes went very round and wide.

“Yes, that’s right,” Bombur said, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Fighting evil. It’s a quest, he’s on a quest.”

Gimizh was silent for the longest time anyone had ever seen from him, his mouth an open ‘o’ and his face shining with awe. “Wow,” he breathed eventually. “Wow.”

“But he’ll be back to see you,” Bombur said, and he rubbed his hand against Gimizh’s back. “Nothing will stop him from coming back to see you. I just know it. He’ll tear down any mountains in his way.”

…

“AUNT DÍS, HIDE ME!” Gimizh yelled as he tore around the corridor.

“You’re on your own,” said Dís, not even looking up from her jewellery-table.

Seconds later, Dori came storming into the room, puffing like a bellows. “Where did that red-haired menace go!” he roared. 

“He came through, but I wasn’t watching,” Dís said calmly, continuing to thread and shape and polish. “What did he do?”

“You remember that wood-pile upon the battlements?” Dori’s hands clenched. “Well, now it _isn’t_ a wood-pile.”

Dís’ mouth twitched. “It wasn’t long ago he came rushing through as though a warg were at his heels, you might still be able to catch him.”

His ears red with anger, Dori turned and charged from the room.

Dís kept working for a moment, and then she said, “All right, get out, Gimizh.”

“Thanks Aunt Dís.”

“If I ever, _ever_ find you hiding under my skirts again, I will leave you to Dori’s mercies, understood?”

…

“No, we gotta go on a _quest,_ ” said Gimizh stubbornly.

“What sort of quest?” said Wee Thorin.

“Mummy?” said Frerin, blinking up at them owlishly.

“That’ll do,” Gimizh decided. “A big ole quest to find Aunt Orla. Come on! It’s gonna be dang’rous and exciting, and we’re gonna be big heroes.”

Wee Thorin looked impressed. “Okay then. Can there be fighting orcs? I like it when we fight orcs.”

“Hundreds an’ hundreds of ‘em,” Gimizh said, nodding. “And trolls too.”

“I’m not a troll!” Frerin said, and he chewed a little on one of Gimizh’s braids. “I’m a Dwarf, anna good boy. Daddy said so.”

“Not _you,_ pebble,” Wee Thorin snorted, gently pulling Gimizh’s hair out of Frerin’s chubby fist. “They’re only pretend. We’ll fight the orcs and the trolls to get to Mum.”

“I’m a good boy.”

“What else do we fight?” Gimizh wondered. “It’s gotta be really scary and incredible. Otherwise it’s not a quest.”

[ ](http://notanightlight.tumblr.com/post/61651735002/the-trouble-troupe)

  


_Balin, Wee Thorin, Gimizh and Frerin, Dwarflings of Erebor, by[notanightlight](http://notanightlight.tumblr.com/post/61651735002/the-trouble-troupe)_

“How about a giant fish! All big teeth,” Wee Thorin said.

“Yeah, a giant big fish, big enough to swallow a Dwarf in one gulp!” Gimizh agreed enthusiastically. “An’ maybe an army of them giant spiders from Mirkwood, too. An’ big smelly Elves who like to stuff Dwarves into barrels and never give ‘em cookies.”

Wee Thorin looked horrified.

“It’s gonna be really amazing an’ we’ll be big heroes, cos we were protecting… uh, Frerin! An’ we’ll fight the evil and protect Frerin, and when we find Aunt Orla and get him to her safe an’ sound we’ll have finished the quest,” said Gimizh proudly.

“Mum’s only down at the training ground,” said Balin, shrugging.

Gimizh stamped his foot. “Aw, why’d you have to go and say that? Now it’s ruined!”

…

“No, Mum! Noooooo, get it off, nooo…”

“Hold still, you squirm like a snake!” Gimrís sat back on her heels and blew a strand of her hair out of her eyes. “Behind your ears, and then you can get out of the bath.”

“Bet Uncle Gimli doesn’t have to have baths on a _quest,”_ Gimizh grumbled as his mother wiped the cloth behind his large round ears.

She paused. “Where did you hear that?”

“Uncle Bombur said so.” Gimizh popped a few bubbles with his forefinger, and then he looked up with pleading eyes. “Can I get out now?”

“Yes,” she said, nonplussed. “Gimizh, are you…”

“I wanna go on a quest,” Gimizh said as he scrambled from the tub and reached for his towel. “I could fight evil good, I could!”

“Gimizh, half of Erebor thinks you _are_ evil,” Gimrís said dryly. “You didn’t get all the mud off your arm there.”

“Oh.” Gimizh swished his arm briefly in his bath and then held it up for inspection. “Now?”

“Better,” she said, and pulled her towel-wrapped son towards her and held him close. “Gimizh, my wild little warrior. Your uncle no doubt misses you as well.”

He slumped slightly, his dark red head pressing against her shoulder and his hair leaving droplets of water against her shift. “He’s gonna be okay, isn’t he?”

She kissed his forehead and smoothed back the wispy curly hair that was beginning to sprout, downy and soft, at his sideburns. “He will do his utmost to stay alive and well, I know it. But my love, a quest is perilous. He will be in danger. It will not be a fun adventure that can be put aside at the end of the day, like your games.”

Gimizh sighed loudly. Then his eyes turned up to hers, and she smiled tremulously at his dear, mischievous little face looking so solemn. “I do miss him,” Gimizh said in a tiny voice.

“I know you do.” Gimrís said softly, enfolding him in her arms once more. She swallowed, and then she said in a voice that was barely a whisper, “I do too.”

“He’s a really great fighter,” mumbled Gimizh. “And Grandpa says that his snoring could scare a troll away.”

“Your grandpa isn’t wrong.”

“Grandpa is going to be home soon, right?”

“Yes, Gimizh,” said Gimrís. She looked up to see Bofur standing in the doorway of the bath-chamber, his usually smiling face grave and sad. “Grandpa will be home soon.”

“Good.” Gimizh yawned and rubbed his face against his mother’s shoulder, and she pressed her cheek against his head for a moment. “I’m gonna show him the squiggly things in the puddles.”

“That’ll thrill him,” said Bofur. He stepped forward and picked up his son, who curled towards him and flung his arms over his shoulders. “Come on, my darling wee man. Off to bed.”

“Don’t wanna,” said Gimizh sleepily.

“Aye, I can see that. Which book did you want?”

“Azaghâl!” Gimizh said.

“Ah. How did I know it would be that one?”

Gimrís stayed seated by the bath a moment longer, her hands wet and empty.

“Stay safe, you fatheaded bother of a brother,” she said to herself. “Stay safe and come home.”

Around her, Erebor braced itself for war.

…

END

**Author's Note:**

> _(N.B. ‘Wild One’ is the literal translation of Gimizh’s name. Azaghâl was the Lord of Belegost during the First Age. He was also something of a stone-cold badass.)_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic of] Little Wild One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037469) by [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd), [fuckthisimgoingtoerebor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckthisimgoingtoerebor/pseuds/fuckthisimgoingtoerebor)




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